


The Galactic ZombieMecha Apocalypse

by DamascusMombot



Series: Thirteen Primes Multiverse [3]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alchemist!Verse, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, F/M, M/M, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Synthetic Energon, Wrecker!Ratchet, synth-en
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-21 14:46:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20695289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DamascusMombot/pseuds/DamascusMombot
Summary: After one of Shockwave's experiments went awry, a virus spread and wiped out nearly all mechanical life in the galaxy, taking over the bodies and operating them under a base coding built to survive and reproduce the virus. The Wreckers were some of the only mechs and femmes able to survive the ordeal. Each new day raised a challenge, however, as any mech or femme with a useful ability or skill was considered of high value and often captured and enslaved for their talents. And Ratchet was certainly someone to gun for. But he needed to stay free. To stay with the Wreckers.Because with them, he could focus less on needing to survive and more on finding a cure.





	The Galactic ZombieMecha Apocalypse

Under the cover of a dirt storm, the Wreckers drove from their last base, their supplies in tow. They needed to move to their newly-secured base because scouts were starting to be spotted in the area. Both Infected, and Collector. And the team had a few members that a Collector would not hesitate to capture. Perceptor, Wheeljack, and Ratchet. They were trying to find a cure, and if one of them got captured, the possibility of finding said cure would go from the already slim chance to no chance at all if they were captured by someone ruthless, which was the most likely case. They needed to keep moving, or they'd end up infected or enslaved. Battening down the hatches with as little fuel and supplies they had would be suicide if they got found and surrounded by the Infected. Unlike an organic zombie outbreak, mechanical zombies didn't rot so quickly. Yes, they rusted and were too brain-dead to take care of themselves, but it took forever for cybertronian bodies to fall apart. 

Unnaturally green optics scanned the environment around their convoy the best they could between the gaps in their formation. The camo-colored ambulance's plating clutched tighter to his frame in anticipation. This dirt storm was good cover for them, but it was also good cover for Infected and Collectors. Hunters were usually (and rightfully) scared of the Wreckers, so they normally wouldn't mess with them. Still, with the current sample of the unfinished cure in his possession, anything could happen. While he originally protested carrying the cure and demanded to have Perceptor carry it so he could smash some skulls in if they were ever attacked on their journey, Springer reasoned with him that the cure would be safest within Ratchet's larger, more heavily armored frame. Alright, fine. But his hands were itching to tear some Infected or Collectors apart. Once they get to the new base, he'll get to ditch the cure in the lab and go burn his extra charge off sparring with Drift. While Ratchet's normally won the sparring matches between himself and his conjunx, a part of him wanted to lose on purpose just so the samurai bot could frag him through the floor, instead. The mere thought of that happening had his valve clenching with interest. Odd. Maybe it's the changes he's made to his Synthetic Energon. Since he started taking his experimental replacement for Energon, he's been more confident and his frame has felt absolutely amazing for the first time in millions of years. No aches or pains. No old injuries acting up. ...No crippling, suicidal depression. 

But for some reason, the others didn't like how the Synth-En was affecting him. He didn't get it. Didn't he need to be at the top of his game? Especially now, with the virus turning their situation worse and worse over time? With his Synth-En, he was stronger. Faster.

Happier.

Why wouldn't they accept that? Why didn't they want him to be happy? It hurt the worst seeing Drift's reaction. His own conjunx didn't approve of him finally doing something for himself. Something that improved his physical and emotional health. After all these years of Drift telling him he needs to take better care of himself, he's not happy when he finally does? 

He didn't get it.

... Okay, well, he kinda did. Synth-En was more than just an alternative fuel. It was a performance-enhancing drug that also worked as an anti-depressant, at least, it did for him. And he was the only one on it. A younger version of himself would scold him for getting addicted to it. But... After everything he's been through, it was getting harder and harder for him to get up and do what he needs to do every morning. Millions of years of constant warfare, trauma, and suffering have worn him down and made him weary. So when he discovered that the Synth-En stopped his processor from thinking so much, and wandering into darker territories, he immediately jumped at the chance to ease his internal pain. Granted, his computing power has dropped significantly and he's not as capable of coming up with good plans on the fly as he was when he was not on it, but he's not overthinking to the point of insanity, anymore. And now he doesn't need to rely on his processor. The Synth-En makes him finally able to handle himself in a straight fight. A battle based on strength, not strategy. 

What was the saying? Ignorance is bliss? If he needed to be dumb to keep his gun away from his spark, so be it. He was more useful alive than dead. 

Without him, there wouldn't be a cure developing. Perceptor knew what chemicals did what and how they were structured. Wheeljack could build the machines needed to mix said chemicals. And Ratchet knew how the cybertronian body functioned better than the back of his hand. He knew of all the possible side effects and he knew all the signs of a reaction to those chemicals. He volunteered to be the guinea pig for their testing, and that's how the Synth-En came to be. It was a failed version of the cure that he noticed could be used as an alternative fuel. In this environment, energon was hard to come by. So one less person using up their energon reserves made it possible to stretch the rations out for a longer period of time before they would need to stock up again. That was the only reason why the team let him stay on it.

He felt his sensors tingle in protest and he groaned at the dizzy feeling that came with it. He was overthinking again. The Synth-En would give him some side-effects if he put too much processing power into something. He didn't even notice he'd slightly changed direction until he lightly bumped into Kup. He jumped slightly and quickly went back to his place in the formation. "...Sorry." He muttered.

"Are you alright, Ratchet?" Kup asked. The truck seemed lightly dented from the bump. Well, if you could tell new dents apart from all the old ones he's always sported. 

"Yeah... Yeah. Just... wasn't looking where I was going." Ratchet kept himself going straight as he waited for his head to clear and his optics to focus. They always seemed out of focus for some reason. Maybe another side effect?

"I can tow you if you need to rest." Ironhide offered. 

Ratchet bristled up at that. "No, I don't need to rest. I'm fine." He felt embarrassed by the idea of needing to be towed. "In fact, when he get to the new base, I'll show you just how capable I am, Ironhide."

"You want to spar?" Ironhide couldn't hide that he was amused by Ratchet's challenge. "Bring it on, old bot!"

"You're older than me." 

"In body. Not in spirit." 

Ratchet would have rolled his eyes if he hadn't been in vehicle mode.

The rest of the trip was surprisingly pleasant and uneventful. Which got the Wreckers all revved for a party, but with nobody to dance with. They were all geared up and ready for anyone or anything to attack them that they had a ton of energy left over when they got to the new base, and after things were placed where they needed to be, some went off to lob, some went off to spar, and some went off to frag. 

Ratchet headed for the training room. He didn't make empty threats. He stared Ironhide dead in the eye as he passed him on the way to the room to convey that he was waiting on him, and ducked through the doorway. 

He was waiting maybe five to ten minutes before Ironhide entered the room. Cocky grin on his face. Oh, that pissed him off. He stomped over, and got into a fighting position. But before he could start, Ironhide piped up.

"Since we're doing this, why not make a bet?"

"A bet?"

"Yeah. Loser does one thing the winner wants."

"..."

"What? Scared I'll make you drink Wheeljack's mystery concoctions?"

"No. You're on!" His processor was whirring to life thinking of all the things he could get Ironhide to do. He almost didn't notice the other Wrecker's fist flying directly at his face. The Synth-En helped him dodge it and step into it, landing two punches to the other's abdominal plating before the mech grabbed his helm and kneed him in the face. Ratchet sputtered, then growled before throwing all of his weight against the other mech in a body slam that would have knocked any normal mech to the ground, but Ironhide was no ordinary mech. As they sparred, the other Wreckers formed an audience, laughing and cheering as Ratchet smashed an old chair he'd found over Ironhide's head, and when Ironhide grabbed Ratchet's arm and spun to throw him against the wall. Drift sat among the crowd, watching with an expression he couldn't quite place. They kept this up until the medic started going dizzy and losing his balance. Ironhide saw the dazed look in the medics eyes, but before he could do or say anything, everything went dark and Ratchet dropped to the floor.


End file.
